The Winchester Mojo
by Daisy S
Summary: Sam, Dean and a little wager concerning the Winchester mojo. Poor Sam gets his heart a little broken, but as always Dashing Dean is there to help sweep up the pieces. A little one shot taking place in season 2, post 'Hunted'.


A/N I would really like to thank the people who took time to review my last story, it really, really made my day!

Also I'd like to dedicate this little ramble to my supernaturally awesome, Supernatural obsessed friend CheekyMonster. Yes this is for you ye big Supernatural slut!

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Bright lights, big City.

Shiny bar, wealthy clientele.

Bottle of Jack left on the bar beside him while suits with briefcases nursed cocktails two bar stools over.

Clink of metal hitting glass as his ring knocked against his third measure.

The mirror behind the bar showed him his reflection, and he smirked at what he saw. He was still a little beat up from their last hunt and he had a couple of healthy looking shiners littering his jaw.

Leather, biker boots and bruises in this kind of joint spelled trouble. No wonder nobody was sitting beside him.

Except Sam of course, who was still nursing his first glass while he took up the bar stool to the left of him. Dean's gaze swept the throng of young professionals behind him in the mirror, and he smirked again as he raised his glass to his lips, relishing the acrid burn as the whiskey wound hot into his belly. So not his scene, but it would've been Sam's once upon a time.

It was rare that he managed to persuade Sam to come out with him. Normally the dork preferred to stay in and read, or go out for a walk, or see a movie by himself. Bars, chicks and liquor just weren't his scene.

Dean often wondered how Sam had gotten through nearly three and a half years of college like that. Wasn't college all about the chicks and the liquor? Playing flip cup till you threw up, passed out or some combination of the two? Sure Sam could hold his liquor, so he must've had _some_ fun in college. . . when it came to women though, Dean sometimes wondered how they were related.

College for him would've been a playground of lonely freshman girls and frat parties. A different sorority girl every weekend. . . yeah, sorority girls. Lonely sorority girls. Sorority girls getting a first taste of life out from under daddy's wing, looking for love in all the wrong places. Looking for love in leather and scars, charm and false promises.

Still Sam had managed to land Jessica who wasn't exactly an uggo by any extent of the imagination. . . how on earth had he managed that? Okay, even Dean was man enough to be able to admit that his little brother was okay looking. Tall with dimples, and chicks sure did love that shit. But little Sammy lacked the mojo. He had the gift naturally, all Winchesters had the gift. Sam just preferred to use it on little old ladies, traumatised victims and occasionally his older brother when he was trying to get his way. 'His way' which usually meant stopping in a big city to check out a library or museum, or which lately included trying to get Dean to talk about their Dad. Which was so not happening. The sharing and caring type, Dean was not. To conclude, Dean decided that Sam's genetic charm was put to a shameful waste and after his fifth measure Dean took it upon himself to bring it up: little Sammy, why don't you use your mojo for evil instead of good?

He turned on his stool, and as he refilled his glass and Sams, he asked his brother with a taunting lilt, 'Little Sammy, why don't you use your powers for evil instead of good?' Okay, so maybe Dean was feeling a little buzzed, and belatedly realised that that probably hadn't been the best way to word his teasing question. Ava's disappearance still weighed too heavily on his little brothers mind, and Dean had been spending a lot of time recently emphasising the grey scale between good and evil. And that Sam really didn't err on the darker side of it.

Sam noticeably recoiled from him and Dean struggled to find words for what he was trying to say. 'No, I don't mean psychic powers man, I mean. . . the Winchester charm. Sammy, you've got the charm, all Winchesters got the charm. Why don't you use your mojo for the mischief making?' Dean grinned relief as Sam laughed and threw back his shot.

'Seriously Dean? The Winchester mojo?' Dean shrugged his answer. 'It's true man. It's genetic. You, me, Dad. . . we got it.' He waggled his eyebrows, 'We got the mojo.'

Rolling his eyes incredulously Sam groaned, 'Have you really been calling that horn-dog side of yourself the 'Winchester mojo'? That ain't mojo man. That's hormones.' Sam filled his own glass and returned the favour for Dean. He raised his glass in salute and Dean replied in kind. They threw their drinks back in unison and Dean tried again. 'Seriously man, I've seen you work witnesses with those puppy-dog eyes of yours- '

'Puppy-dog?'

'Yes, puppy-dog. You get the eyes going and they fall all over themselves to tell you what happened. You give them a smile and they forget that they're telling you about some gruesome murder, man, those kinda powers are the ones people should be afraid of! A couple of visions here and there ain't got nothing on those puppy eyes.'

Smirking, Sam turned to Dean as he slid off his stool, 'Well these puppy-dog eyes are heading back, we gotta get on the road early tomorrow Dean. You ready?' Disappointed, Dean nodded in acquiescence, 'I guess. Man why'd you gotta be such a mom?'

'Dude, I learned from the best,' Sam shot back as he shoved a few bills on the bar. He winked at the woman behind the bar as he turned away, and she actually blushed in response. Nuh uh, Dean was so not ready to call it a night just yet. He threw out his arm to stop Sam from leaving. 'Dude! What was that?' he hissed in his brothers ear.

'The mojo Dean. The mojo.' He said seriously.

Dean balked. His brother, ladies man? No dice, he wasn't buying.

'Dude, it is not yet time to call it a night. I call your bluff, that wink? _Nothing_. I propose a small wager.'

Sam sat back down on his bar stool facing Dean, piqued interest clear on his face. 'Go on,' he consented. Dean's inner child rubbed his hands in glee, 'Okay, so you and me are both in possession of a fine stock of Winchester charm, hereafter known as the 'mojo'.' Sam rolled his eyes. If that kid rolled his eyes any harder they'd roll right the way back into his head.

He continued unperturbed 'I propose that we put our individual talents to the test. Your 'puppy-dog' eyes versus my good-looks and god-given sex-appeal.' Sam nodded, surveying the bar. Checking out the talent? Sometimes you never knew with Sam. He turned back to Dean, grin covering his face showing all his teeth. It was too rare that Dean saw his brother smile like that, and he felt a momentary twinge of sadness in chest for him. Too much, too young. He quickly shoved the thought aside and returned the grin in kind.

Seriously, Sam turned back to the bar and motioned to the bar woman, indicating that he wanted two beers. When they arrived in front of them Sam took a swig of his and got down to business. 'Okay, so what are the terms?'

Dean's inner child jumped around in excitement. He took a swig of his own beer thinking over his course of action before continuing, 'Okay, first one to get a girls number wins radio privileges for a week.' Easy, simple. Requiring no commitment from either party. Because as much as Dean teased his brother for being a girl, he respected that Sam just saw these things differently. Women weren't just conquests for Sam, and even if it had been more than a year since Jess's death he knew his little brother was still torn up about it.

Sam nodded, 'Okay. The terms are acceptable. May the best Winchester win.' He stood up and put out his hand to Dean, pulling him into a disturbingly lawyer-like handshake. He smirked again, picked up his beer and disappeared into the crowd.

Giving him a head start, Dean sat back in his stool prepared to finish off his beer before he set after his prey. He surveyed the crowd behind him with renewed interest, looking for the easiest target. There were few lonely women drinkers in the bar, as most seemed to be with after-work crowds. He was half thinking of waiting to see if anyone approached him when he caught sight of Sam sitting at the other end of the bar. He was facing outwards talking to a woman with long brown hair, who definitely was not the shrinking violet type Dean had expected Sam to go after. As he watched in amazement the woman grabbed Sam's knees, pulling them apart to make room for her to shimmy in closer to him. She leaned in close, saying something no doubt x-rated into Sam's ear. Dean laughed to himself, wholeheartedly anticipating Sam's awkward reaction, but to his endless surprise Sam merely grinned and leaned in close to respond in her ear. Dean watched, bug-eyed as Sam and the girl got up and walked out of the bar together. He was still sitting at the bar feeling a vague sense of panic over what to do next when his phone vibrated in his pocket, indicating '1 new message'; 'don't wait up man. get ready to put metallica in the trunk for a week ;)'

Sam had just left with a girl. Sam had just told him not to wait up. 'Little' Sammy was going to get laid.

He eyed the clientele one more time before deciding to graciously admit defeat and head back to the motel. He downed the rest of his beer in a gulp and gracelessly lurched to his feet. On his way out he noticed a few interested gazes coming from around the bar and momentarily reconsidered his decision. But when push came to shove he couldn't find it within him to take away from Sam's victory, and to be painfully honest the drive just wasn't in him anymore. His dad's deal was a constant ringing in his ears, and his final words haunted his every hour. Food, sex and women – his holy trinity, was tainted with latent anger and bitterness towards the man he had idolised his whole life. Daddy issues, Dean scoffed. Who knew?

Walking the few short blocks back to the charming no-star motel they were currently calling home, Dean considered his predicament. Sam was going to wander home in the morning calling victory and claiming music privileges for seven whole days. He was pretty sure Sam would rag on him again for his lack of interest in the opposite sex, joking and teasing cloaking barely veiled concern. For all his bravado Dean was well aware that Sam saw right through him, and his transparency in this regard bothered him no end. Apparently Sam knew he had 'daddy' issues before even he did. Freaking brothers. Freaking mind-reading brothers. Oh well, Dean surmised. I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it.

The motel door clicked opened to a cold, dark room which offered no reprieve from the cold, dark thoughts haunting him. Dean hardly shrugged out of his jacket before hitting the hay, regretting the wager and wishing that Sam was there to make the room feel warmer.

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Dawn broke lazily outside the motel window, and Dean relished the warmth of the sun moving its way across his bed, warming him from the inside out. The mattress was soft, the sheets smelled fresh and he was languishing in the in-between sensation of not being quite awake and not being quite asleep. As a Winchester, these little joys were to be relished and savoured – comforts came few and far between in their world, and you had to take what you could get. A rattle at the door pulled him out of his reverie and he instinctively reached for the knife under his pillow, grasping the handle with an assured ease. He heard the lock being picked and relaxed minutely. Just Sam.

Sam coming home from his one night stand. Dean sat up, wager remembered, shit-eating grin covering his face as Sam got the door open and peeked around the edge. 'Well well well, if it isn't the mojo-working Sammy Winchester doing the walk of shame,' he leered, motioning at Sam to hurry himself in. 'Come on man, tell me all about it. Don't spare the details.'

He got himself out of bed and headed over to turn on the coffee maker, trying to remember if such an event had ever happened before, Sam straggling home in the morning after a night spent in the comfort of a lady. Coming up empty he turned around to tease Sam some more, but stopped abruptly at the look on Sam's face. His eyes were downcast and his posture was slouched, every aspect of his body language indicated misery. 'Sam? Everything okay?' he tried. 'She didn't make you do anything you didn't want, did she?' Dean raised his eyebrow suggestively, his teasing bravado masking a serious concern – crap, what on earth had Sam gotten himself into? Knowing his luck, he'd probably ended up going home with a freak who had wanted to be walked around like pony, or get their diaper changed.

'Sam?' he tried again, a new concern tugging at his mind, 'You were. . . safe and everything right?' This at least seemed to pull Sam out of his funk as he visibly shook himself alert, 'What? Why would you – yeah, of course, everything was fine.'

But Sam's hooded eyes betrayed his words, and as he threw himself onto his bed and buried his face into his pillow, Dean's worry increased tenfold. He went over to sit by his brother and Sam shimmied over on his bed to make room. Dean smiled at the movement and settled himself on the edge of the bed. 'Sam. . . what's wrong?'

'Nothing's _wrong_ Dean,' came the muffled reply 'I'm fine. Really. Just tired. Busy night.' He laughed humorously, turning around and looking up at the ceiling. 'I'm fine' he repeated.

Now it was Dean's turn to laugh 'Yeah and I'm the queen of England. I'm not buying what you're peddling Sam, try again.'

Sam sighed, and looked away. Embarrassed. 'Come on man, you can tell me. I swear I won't tell anyone.' He laughed at that, an honest to goodness laugh, 'Yeah 'cause who would you tell, right?'

'Right' Dean agreed.

'It's really nothing Dean. Just that girl, eh Lucy, she's the first girl since Jess that I. . . y'know. . .' Ah. All becoming clear. Dean's inner child cowered. Stupid, stupid bet.

'Yeah, I know Sam'

'And it was just strange. I mean considering Jess, it's been nearly four years since I've been with someone new, and you forget, you know? Just, with Jess, it always meant something. Even a quickie in the shower meant something. I dunno, I guess I'm just not the love 'em and leave 'em type.'

This quiet admission and Sam's obvious embarrassment, pulled at something deep in Dean's gut. The protective instinct and fierce love that he sometimes wondered if all oldest siblings felt, or just him. He swung his legs up onto the bed and settled himself against the headboard. 'Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you do anything you didn't want.' He looked down at Sam shaking his head, 'No man, you didn't. Not at all, that was all me. My choice, my decision.'

'Okay, well I'm still sorry. Sex was never just _sex_ with you, was it?'

Sam rolled away from him, still embarrassed. 'No,' he admitted softly. 'No it wasn't'

Aw kid. . . 'Well you got her number right? At least you get to listen to all the emo crap you want to for a whole week.' Dean pulled himself off the bed and moved towards the bathroom to brush his teeth. 'Come on, get cleaned up and I'll take you out for pancakes. I think I saw an I-HOP down the highway.' Pancakes, after all, solved everything.

Dean jumped as he saw Sam jack knife on the bed, 'Holy crap, what the fuck was that?' he gasped, 'You scared the crap out of me!'

'Sorry,' came the distant reply, and Dean turned around at the odd tone of voice. He stared at Sam, utterly confused and definitely out of his depth as a slow grin spread over Sam's face. 'What?' he asked, 'What the hell is up with you now?'

'Dean, I – I never got her number.'

It took a minute for it to sink in, but when it did, oh how Dean laughed. Sam forfeited the bet.

'Oh Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I think I'm in the mood for Zeppelin two today, how'd you feel about that?'

Sam opened his mouth to respond but Dean was already in the bathroom slamming the door shut, 'Shotgun shuts his cakehole bitch!'

A/N2, this really was done on the fly while procrastinating studying for exams, but once again revies would be really appreciated. I am very new to this all!


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